“Bentley, I’m afraid. He took offense at something. I’m still trying to figure out what exactly happened, but the other boys involved—”
“Boys?”
“Two. Seventh graders, good students, leaders for the most part. But they’re also a bit of a clique with some other kids. Look, if Bentley apologizes and promises no more fighting, I’ll let this one slide. I’ve talked to the boys’ parents, and they are willing to let it go if this is a one-and-done.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll talk to him. Mr. Tucker, he’s a good kid.”
“I can see that, Caleb, but he’s also hurting and confused.”
Caleb should’ve suspected something brewing beneath the surface. Bentley seemed fine with everything, even chipper, over the weekend. He talked nonstop as he moved into his room. He ran back and forth between his grandparents’ place and home. Went to church with them Sunday while Caleb slept in. Not once did he speak of his mom.
Bentley returned to the office with a clean face, hair slicked into place, holding a bottle of water. Mr. Tucker informed him of his consequence. Bentley agreed to apologize and never fight again.
Caleb waited with him while the other boys were summoned. They were a good three inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier.
Bentley looked each boy in the eye, said he was in the wrong, and promised not to start anything again. The boys shook hands and accepted his apology, then the three of them headed back to class.
“I’ll pick you up later,” Caleb said as they parted ways in the hall. “I’m proud of you, okay?”
After school, they said nothing as they walked toward Avenue C, the beach, and the Sands Motor Motel.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Caleb leaned to see Bentley’s face.
“They wouldn’t let me sit at their table. Then someone said I was a crybaby.”
“For no reason?”
Bentley shook his head. Caleb kept walking as Avenue C connected to the Beachwalk behind the motor motel.
“Are you hungry?” Caleb asked. “How about something to eat?”
“Can we get tacos?”
At Tito’s Taco Truck, Caleb ordered two Taco-Taco-Taco meals, then carried the food to one of the Beachwalk benches.
“Good choice, Bent. These are my favorite.” Caleb bit into his first taco with a side glance at Bentley, who sat there, staring toward the sea blue waves lapping against the sandy beige shore, his food untouched. A single tear splashed down on the taco wrapper.
“No one wants me,” he said, lowering his head.
“Hey, buddy, that’s not true. I want you. Grandpa and Grandma want you. Your mom—”
“Dumped me off with you because Pluto doesn’t want me.”
“Pluto? I thought his name was Arturo.”
“I call him Pluto,” Bentley said. “He looks like an alien.”
Caleb grinned. Man, he liked this kid.
“I just wanted to sit with those guys at lunch,” Bentley continued. “I liked them. They made me laugh in math class. Then someone told them I was crybaby. Crying in the bathroom after gym.”
“And were you?”
“No.”
His monotone reply said otherwise. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“Yeah.”
